


Those Long Years Which Divided Us

by Fairleigh



Category: Original Work
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Loneliness, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Politics, Reunions, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2020-12-17 02:00:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21046442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fairleigh/pseuds/Fairleigh
Summary: A peace treaty to reunify a sundered kingdom also reunites unexpectedly an ageing prince with his dearest childhood friend whom he'd thought dead in the war.





	Those Long Years Which Divided Us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [partypaprika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/partypaprika/gifts).

“The Sudterre royal contingent has arrived at the gates.”

“Excellent news,” Lucien’s young nephew said. He glanced at Lucien anxiously; Lucien offered him a gentle smile and nod of encouragement. Thus bolstered, the Lord of Nordterre took a deep breath and continued, his voice ringing with all the authority of his position, “Open the gates and welcome them into the keep.”

The guard clicked his heels together, saluted the throne, and hastened to obey his liege’s command.

That order had been very well-spoken indeed, and Lucien couldn’t have been prouder of his eldest brother’s son. “You’re doing great,” he murmured, quietly so that only his young nephew would hear the praise.

“But I can’t help but be nervous, Uncle. The stakes are too high. One wrong move, and it’ll all be for naught,” the Lord of Nordterre whispered.

Lucien placed a soothing hand on his young nephew’s shoulder and squeezed. “The hard part is already over. You’ve already brokered this peace. I never thought I’d live to see the day. This treaty signing is just a formality, so relax and enjoy the fruits of your labor.”

What Lucien said was nothing less than the truth … and truth be told, he hadn’t, until quite recently, been living to expect much of anything, really. ‘Not much of anything’ was, after all, basically the destined lot of a king’s sixth son. Lucien had known for as long as he could remember that he’d never ascend the throne, that his five elder brothers and their sons preceded him in line, each and every one, that the throne might as well be on the moon. And since he’d always considered marriage out of the question, his life choices therefore consisted of either the priesthood or the army.

He’d been leaning heavily towards priestly vows when the Southerners decided to secede and the war between Sudterre and Nordterre began. Suddenly everything seemed strange and new; the old rules were upended. There were new opportunities to be had by those with the wherewithal to seize them. Marius convinced him to equip himself with armor and sword and join the army instead.

Lucien had been skeptical at first, but Marius was Lucien’s most trusted friend and confidante, and he had been most persuasive: “We did not attack the Southerners; the Southerners attacked _us_! They hate us; they hate our way of life! We must defend your family’s honor! We must defend Nordterre’s loyal subjects! We must defend _the children_!”

They’d both been fifteen years old, then, Lucien and Marius. Hardly more than children themselves. Ah, they’d been so idealistic and _foolish_ —

No, he mustn’t remember; remembering was too hard. He’d spent the past thirty-five years not remembering that brutal civil war any more than he absolutely had to. It was how he’d gotten himself out of bed each day, how he’d survived, how — if he hadn’t exactly thrived — he’d nonetheless managed to be there for his young nephew upon reaching the age of ascension. It was how he’d become his young nephew’s most trusted advisor and helped him end the cold war. And now, very soon, the Kingdom would be reunified, and they could finally exorcise the ghosts of the past —

And speaking of the past, the Lord of Sudterre had arrived. Lucien hadn’t laid eyes on the face of the Lord of Sudterre since the final, terrible battle at Chertras.

“My Lord,” he said to Lucien’s nephew. He got down on one knee.

But Lucien wasn’t looking at the Lord of Sudterre; he was looking at the Lord of Sudterre’s retinue.

At one member of that retinue in particular.

“_M-Marius_,” Lucien choked out.

~*~*~

Afterwards, Lucien could remember little of the treaty signing. He knew he had been there, of course, that he’d made all the right noises and all of the right gestures, that a historic day in the history of the kingdom had proceeded without a hitch.

Just, he couldn’t recall much of it. He’d gone dizzy, lightheaded, like his soul had become detached, floating high above the proceedings, and the body left behind was simply going through the motions. Hours had passed like this in a dazed instant.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the only thing he could remember clearly was Marius. Marius, last seen as a boy, last heard above the screams of horses and dying men as he begged Lucien to leave him behind. And now? Now, Marius was grizzled and gray, wearing every day of their thirty-five years spent apart on the crags and valleys of his face. Yet he was hale as well, still, and handsome. Oh so very, very handsome. Lucien couldn’t tear his eyes away.

They’d become soldiers together. Ostensibly, they’d joined the army to defend the honor of Nordterre against Southern hubris, but in reality, Lucien only joined because it meant that he’d have an excuse to spend more time with Marius.

At the time, he’d been too young and foolish to admit it, but the truth, such as it was, as the truth most often was, was quite simple: He’d been desperately in love.

It’d been that way for as long as Lucien could remember. He’d make any excuse to be near Marius; he’d loiter in places he hoped Marius would be. He’d hung on Marius’s every word, every gesture; he’d memorized his habits, his likes, his dislikes. His heart had sung paeans of joy whenever they were together; separation had been actual physical pain. He’d dreamt of Marius when he slept; he’d fantasized about him when he was awake. His first orgasm had been with Marius’s name a cry of passion and need upon his lips. But Marius had never known, naturally, and Lucien, unwilling to jeopardize their friendship, had never breathed a word.

If they’d be close before, the battlefield only brought they closer. As befitting their respective stations, they’d been made officers. But in reality, most of the _conscripts_ had had far more experience with war than they … never mind the other officers whose contempt for the king’s effete sixth son was, at best, thinly veiled.

Lucien had thus spent most of time with Marius, who had taken it upon himself to take care of Lucien. He’d made certain he ate enough, drank, slept. And he’d tended to his injuries — even the most minor ones — in order to ensure that they did not become diseased. And even when he’d had no new injuries to check or swab or bandage, Marius would stay with him long into the night, talking about nothing and everything and massaging his aching muscles until he’d been practically boneless and purring with pleasure. Oh, how he’d thrilled at Marius’s touch. How he’d yearned to reciprocate that touch! But Marius hadn’t shared his feelings, had been totally oblivious. Lucien would’ve lost his best friend to his own selfishness, and he couldn’t bear that, especially not in wartime.

The decisive battle had come upon them quickly, and it’d been a terrible rout for Nordterre. They lost all the territory in the South that they’d gained in a single day, and then they started to lose land in the North. Thousands on both sides had perished, including the Lucien’s father and three of his five elder brothers. Lucien would have as well, had it not been for Marius covering his retreat.

“Go! Don’t wait!”

“No, but — please — _Marius _— ” Lucien had started, protesting. The Sudterre soldiers were mere seconds from swarming them both.

“Go!” Marius had repeated. “I’ll be right behind you!”

Except he wasn’t. And by the time he’d realized, the war had been lost. Marius was not among those few Nordterre soldiers who’d stumbled home weeks or months later, nor was he among the handful of bodies of the fallen that were repatriated. Lucien drew his own logical conclusions.

He’d grieved. How he’d grieved! And he’d wished for death. Prayed for it. For years and years and years. Yet his stubborn body, so excellently kept during the war by Marius’s tender ministrations, refused to die.

Then his young nephew ascended the throne, and Lucien’s life regained some semblance of meaning.

Sort of.

Provided he didn’t think about it too hard.

~*~*~

They had no chance to speak in private until late in the evening, after the rest of the Sudterre delegation had retired to guest chambers.

“But _why_?!” Lucien paced back and forth, agitated. He was flabbergasted. “The border was heavily patrolled, I know. But you could’ve gotten a message through _somehow_. Or surely, once the peace talks started … ”

Marius had survived, obviously, awakening in the middle of a pile of bodies awaiting a mass grave and escaping into the wilderness where he’d lived hand to mouth for months until winter came and he was forced to turn himself in to a roving Sudterre patrol. The Lord of Sudterre had given him clemency in return for a lifetime of leal service. This had been a surprise; he’d been expecting the executioner’s blade. But Marius was nothing if not honorable, and so he’d pledged his life in service to the interests of the secessionist South.

This, Lucien understood. What he didn’t understand, or perhaps didn’t want to understand, was why Marius had never notified Nordterre. “Why Marius?!?! All these years — I grieved for you!”

Marius looked down at his feet, his mouth drawn so tight with pain that it made Lucien hurt, too. “I … I guess … I guess I thought you’d be better off without me. Our friendship — I didn’t want — I was just holding you back … because … because I … ”

“Because you what?” None of it made any sense!

Marius’s gaze lifted to meet Lucien’s. His eyes were bright with tears. Lucien had to blink back his own tears at the sight. _“Because I was in love with you, Lucien, because I never stopped loving you, and you never loved me!”_ he cried out.

Lucien felt all of the air go out of his lungs. Had he actually heard that right?! Marius was in love with him?! All those years! All those years ago, they’d been professing their love to one another. With bids for companionship, with every tender ministration, with every fraternal touch — that’s what they’d been telling one another. They’d just never said the words. And so, the message was never received.

There was, Lucien realized, only one thing left to do. He threw himself into Marius’s arms and kissed him.

Marius fell upon him, then, desperate and hungry as a ravening wolf, ransacking his lips, his mouth, his tongue, devouring him as if he could take the taste of Lucien into himself and keep it inside him forever, to make up for all the lonely years they’d been kept apart. Lucien’s gasped and moaned and clutched at Marius’s shoulders, his back, his waist, his buttocks, tearing his clothing aside, feeling all the parts of Marius to which he’d only ever dreamed he would be given access.

They tumbled into bed haphazardly, chest to chest, rolling around and around and around on the bed until Lucien was on his back and Marius was on top. Their awkwardness and inexperience was self-evident — in spite of their incipient old age they were either virgins or close enough; neither man had wanted anyone else. It wouldn’t have been the same without love. Lucien wrapped his legs around Marius’s, whining as their erections slid together, swollen and leaking precome. He rocked his hips upwards, laughing at Marius’s aroused growl into his ear.

There was no chance of this lasting. Not the first time. Hardly a minute had passed before Lucien’s back was arching, his hips jerking — once — twice — and then he was spurting against Marius, and Marius had buried his face into the crook of Lucien’s neck and come, too, the thick, musky scent of their mingled semen filling their nostrils as they panted together, shuddering, minds blanked by exquisite pleasure.

“Wow. Very wow,” Lucien muttered, voice slurred slightly from the afterglow.

“Wow indeed,” Marius replied. “I can’t wait to do it again!”

Lucien’s cock gave a twitch of interest at that, but for now at least, it was a twitch that wasn’t going to be taking them anywhere.

It didn’t matter, though. The long years that had divided them divided them no longer. Nord and Sudterre were reunified, and now they had the rest of their lives to share.


End file.
